


you are that love of mine

by buckydarling



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Meaningless Fluff, Mornings, i can't write, lots of introspection, this is very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 10:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14735439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckydarling/pseuds/buckydarling
Summary: Albert loves the mornings best.





	you are that love of mine

**Author's Note:**

> wow look at isa go two nights in a row she's on a roll folks
> 
> i'm officially on summer break and ches has me on a finchal kick and i'd do anything for her so here we are
> 
> title from "dandelions" by ruth b.
> 
> hit me up for my finchal playlist
> 
> yay

Albert loves the mornings best. 

 

The sunlight cuts through the slats of the blinds over their bedroom window, sliding over the floor and onto the bedcovers in stark gold lines, painting them both in shimmering sunrise hues and making everything look like it’s been drizzled with honey. The cacophony of the city below creates a rhythm that settles into background noise, car horns and bustling crowds and slamming doors creating the percussion that starts their song every day, thrumming like a heartbeat in the back of Albert’s mind. On busy days the city music puts a spring in his step, lighting little fires under his heels and prompting him to step in time to the beat of his headphones, walking everywhere like he’s someone out of a music video; but in the mornings, it’s background noise, humming steady like a radiator, letting them wake up slowly at their own pace. 

 

It’s a Sunday, and there’s nothing going on. There are no brunches, no shifts at work, no classes to take or places to be or people to meet. There is only them, stirring slowly in their bed, relaxing with the rise and fall of each other’s chests and draped on top of each other, limbs tangled and bodies pressed so close Albert can’t tell whose heartbeat he’s feeling, pounding slow and steady like a drumbeat in his chest.

 

Albert is the first awake, because he always is. Because he loves the mornings, loves the calm and the quiet, the feelings of peace and just lying in bed before he has to get up and shoulder the responsibilities of life from where he’d discarded them on the floor the night before. Upstairs, a baby cries once before it’s mother calms it; teenagers shout outside the building; a neighbor climbs out onto the fire escape, most likely for a smoke. Albert lets his eyes stay closed and just listens for a moment, soaking in the sounds and the sunlight and the stillness before he rolls over gently, blinking his eyes open to gaze at Finch. 

 

Finch is peaceful in the mornings. His shirt collar lies askew, revealing a strip of smooth skin, exposed neck and shoulder and collarbone painted in slats of sunlight from the window. Albert hums, skimming a thumb over a fading mark he’d left the night before, and Finch doesn’t stir. His breath comes in soft puffs, curls sticking in every direction; Albert reaches up where his arm is tucked under Finch’s head and cards his fingers gently through Finch’s hair, smiling at the unconscious sigh it elicits. Finch is lying on his back, but he rolls over in his sleep towards Albert, tucking his face into Albert’s shoulder and tossing an arm over his waist so they’re lying pressed together chest to chest, legs tangled. 

 

Albert laughs softly, pressing his nose into Finch’s hair and breathing in the scent of his shampoo; the bottle says it’s ‘ocean breeze’ but Finch always laughs at that, just opting to call it a ‘clean scent.’ Albert breathes in the scent of the shampoo, feels Finch’s warm breath on his chest and the press of his arm over Albert’s waist and the warm morning sunlight, and he’s acutely aware of the feeling of  _ home.  _

 

It makes his chest do a funny flip, but it’s not unpleasant, so Albert just opts to kiss the top of Finch’s head once and then again before letting himself doze on and off, running the fingers of his other hand lazily up and down Finch’s spine under his shirt and letting their breaths sync until they’re slow and even. 

 

They don’t get mornings like this often; their lives are busy. Between Finch’s job at the record store, the classes he’s taking to finish his degree at NYU, and Albert’s work at the dance center, balanced with a large (and very social) friend group, they don’t often get time to themselves to just sleep in and enjoy each other’s company. Their days consist of hurried kisses in the morning on their way out the door, sometimes taking the train together if they’re really lucky, and meeting up for coffee during the day. The evenings are theirs pretty consistently, but in the evenings they’re worn out and tired, unable to do much more than cuddle with each other in a heap and play something on Netflix.

 

Their lives are busy, and while Albert loves every second of it that he gets to share with Finch, he’s grateful for the mornings like this. 

 

In his arms, Finch finally stirs, letting out a soft noise as he shifts awake slowly. He blinks, his eyelashes fluttering soft against Albert’s collarbone, then looks up,  squinting in the late morning light. Hair a mess, head still pillowed on Albert’s arm and hands tucked in between their bodies, Finch looks absolutely breathtaking in the stripes of golden sunlight. He smiles softly. “Morning,” he whispers, scrunching his nose when Albert presses a kiss to it softly. 

 

“Morning,” Albert responds, carding a hand through Finch’s hair again. “You’re stunning,” he tells Finch, who hums happily.

 

“You’re sweet,” he sighs, “and I love you.” 

 

Albert smiles. “I love you too,” he says, sighing when Finch kisses him slow and deep, like they have all the time in the world. Their bodies shift on the mattress, Finch pressing him down and kissing him sweet and slow again and again, both of them moving together like they’re falling in love for the first time all over again, and maybe they are. 

 

Albert loves the mornings best, but he loves them more when Finch is awake to share them. 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: hispanicjackkelly


End file.
